


And Maybe We're Strangers

by luxxiite



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Also Tilly's Asian now. And from Virginia. And he has short hair. Oops, Angst, But yeah its mostly angst, Casual homophobia bc Tillman, Lots of Declan pining, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Post-S10 but theres flashbacks, Some Swearing, Tillman has amnesia, shifting povs, theres some cute moments, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxxiite/pseuds/luxxiite
Summary: Declan Suzanne wants to forget a lot of things. But, most of all, he wants to forget yesterday morning.Because, yesterday morning, Tillman Henderson- eldest son to Thrillman J. Henderson and Harmony Huang Henderson, the worst pitcher on the Baltimore Crabs, Declan’s sort-of not-boyfriend that he sometimes made out with while watching anime reruns, the sole incineration of Season 9- returned from the void.And the worst part was, for a brief period of time, Declan was happy about it.(AKA, the TillDec amnesia fic literally no one asked for. Poggers.)
Relationships: Tillman Henderson/Declan Suzanne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	And Maybe We're Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> yeetus hawtus my dudes. this one goes out to everyone who briefly glanced in tilldec's direction and had an "oh shit i kinda care about these trash men" moment. i've never actually written fanfiction before and i'm honestly just winging it with this idea but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> anyways, go listen to shutout from the new garages album (it inspired this fic a lot). enjoy :)

**Part I - Declan**

_“I know I’m just killing time_  
_And baby, that’s not fine”_  
_-Lent_ , Autoheart

Declan Suzanne wanted to forget.

He wanted to forget that feeling he had that night, dragged out of bed and sitting alone on his couch with Rivers on the phone as they both listened to the drone of the newscaster saying that fateful sentence: _On Day 64 of the Internet League Blaseball’s ninth season, Baltimore Crabs player Tillman Henderson was incinerated by rogue umpires while playing a game against the San Francisco Lovers…_

He wanted to forget the emotional chasm that had opened up inside him like his own personal Hellmouth, swallowing up any trace of feeling left in his body and replacing it with an empty numbness that left him too paralyzed to move, flick off the TV, do anything except sit there all night long and listen to that _stupid, stupid_ broadcast saying those _stupid, stupid_ words no one wanted to hear but couldn’t bring themselves to admit out loud. 

He wanted to forget the days that followed the breaking of the news and the way he would wake up in the morning expecting to see Tillman still asleep and lying next to him, only to be greeted by an empty bed and an emptier apartment- a rumpled Maryland-flag print sweatshirt still hanging from the coat rack serving as the sole reminder that this place was once home to another person. 

But, most importantly, Declan Suzanne wanted to forget yesterday morning. 

Because yesterday morning, Tillman Henderson- eldest son to Thrillman J. Henderson and Harmony Huang Henderson, the worst pitcher on the Baltimore Crabs, Declan’s sort-of not-boyfriend that he sometimes made out with while watching anime reruns, the sole incineration of Season 9- returned from the void.

And the worst part was, for a brief period of time, Declan was _happy_ about it.

***

In a similar fashion to his death, word of Tillman’s sudden revival came at an ungodly hour in the morning. Declan had just fallen asleep when his phone buzzed on the nightstand next to him. Stirring awake, he blindly reached out and turned it on, wincing as the bright screen light came into his eyes.

A message from Rivers. Declan swiped away the notification and thumbed over to his messaging app, staring at what his teammate had sent. The brevity of the text made it all the more of a punch to the gut.

_You’ve got to be kidding me._ Declan rubbed his eyes. This was probably some kind of hallucination, a punishment doled out by his sleep-deprived brain for staying up all night playing video games. Either that or it was a cruel joke orchestrated by a particularly vengeful Rivers Rosa who was once again upset at the Firefighters for not making the season playoffs.

** >direct message with _rivers rosa_ < **

**3:12 AM- riv-to-you:** hey dec. tillman’s back.  
 **3:14 AM- 100decs:** shut up  
 **3:14 AM- 100decs:** you’re not serious  
 **3:15 AM- 100decs:** is this some kind of joke i know we didnt make champs this season but i already said sorry  
 **3: 15 AM- 100decs:** rivers answer me  
 **3: 15 AM- 100decs:** it’s like 3 in the morning please just let me go back to sleep  
 **3: 16 AM- riv-to-you:** pfft ur funny deckie  
 **< _rivers rosa_ wants to share link: blaseballbroadcasts.com/henderson-returned with you. >**

Still not fully unconvinced that this wasn’t a prank, Declan tentatively clicked the link. After exiting out of several pop-up ads, he found himself on the page of the news article. Sure enough, it seemed legitimate. And, sure enough, there was Tillman’s undead, camera-captured face, displayed for all to see right under the words “FORMERLY INCINERATED HENDERSON BACK IN ACTIVE PLAY” written in bolded text.

Declan could feel his heart racing, heat flooding up to his cheeks. Okay. So it wasn’t a joke.

The first thing Declan noticed was how _different_ Tillman looked. The image that the article had chosen to use was a candid shot of Tillman practicing at an empty Choux Stadium, dressed in a Shoe Thieves jersey and winding up for a pitch, presumably taken by an onlooker (So. He was playing for the Thieves now. And he was back to being a pitcher. Declan filed that information away in his brain, he figured it would probably be useful later on.). He had now idea how the freshly-unincinerated Tillman was already back on the field and training with his new team, but he didn’t question it. It was Blaseball after all. If things were making sense, it usually was a sign that something was wrong. 

Aside from the obvious relocation and uniform swap, the other noticeable change with Tillman was his hair. For most of the time that Declan knew him, Tillman had shoulder-length black hair with faded blonde and blue tips from a regrettable dye job several years prior, which he normally wore in a messy ponytail abomination that left him with more hair let down than actually tied back. Sometime between the last two seasons though, he’d traded that for a considerably shorter but equally unruly undercut style- undoubtedly the result of having rogue umpires burn off your entire hair during the incineration process. Declan never would’ve imagined it in a million years, but Tillman actually looked _really good_ like that.

And yet, despite all those changes, there was one thing about Tillman that- appearance-wise at least- remained the exact same: his eyes. Declan would rather throw his Xbox into Lake Michigan than admit it out loud, but _god fucking dammit Tillman had nice eyes_. They were nearly the exact same shade of deep brown as his own, but whereas Declan’s eyes were about as flat and uninteresting as black coffee accidentally left on the kitchen counter overnight, Tillman’s eyes were like solar eclipses. Sure, it was a sappy statement, and an ironic one at that, but it was true. Tillman was just one of those people with a gaze so intense and captivating and strangely beautiful that you couldn’t help but look at even if you knew it was bad for you.

At least, that’s how it was for him. 

***

The first time Declan Suzanne met Tillman Henderson, it was at a party in San Francisco. The event was hosted by the Lovers, and every team in the league was on the guest list, which made navigating the suburban park complex where it was held all the more difficult to do. It was a mild summer evening, considerably warmer than anything Declan had experienced in Chicago (where he was from), yet he still felt the need to wear a jacket (probably because he was just used to it at that point). The event itself seemed interesting enough, but Declan wasn’t really the type to enjoy large social gatherings. For most of the party, he just lingered about, occasionally stopping by to say a halfhearted greeting to his mingling teammates, but otherwise opting to hang out in an unoccupied section of the park by himself. In fact, Declan had just gotten back from being dragged along by Lou and Rivers to meet some Sunbeams players and was about to settle down and play the rhythm game he had downloaded onto his phone when he heard a voice.

“This party sucks _ass_ right?”

Declan looked up. Standing next to him was a short figure wearing a backwards ball cap, plastic cup full of what appeared to be beer in his hand. Declan had never actually interacted with him outside of games, but he instantly knew who he was. It was honestly hard not to recognize this player. After all, gossip travelled fast in Blaseball; at that point, you would’ve had to be living under a rock not to have heard of Tillman Henderson. 

The shittiest pitcher- and person- in the entire ILB. 

And he was right next to Declan.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Tillman took a swig from his cup. “Same as you, I’d figure. We’re just two dudes too cool to bother with this gayass party bullcrap.” He cast a glance to the rest of the crowd, scoffed, and then looked back at Declan.

“Who the fuck are you anyways? I’ve literally never seen you before.”

Declan wanted to point out that their teams were literally in the same division together, but decided against it. Instead, he replied.

“I’m Declan, from Chicago. And you’re Tillman from Baltimore right?”

Laughter. “Baltimore? That’s cap dude, that’s fuckin’ bullshit. I only say that so Nagomi doesn’t wreck my ass every time our team has to do interviews cuz it makes me look like a ‘city native’ or whatever. I fucking hate Baltimore. Jankyass crab-shit city. I’m actually Northern Virginia born and raised. Chantilly, to be specific.”

Declan lifted an eyebrow. “You’re making that up. You have to be. I refuse to believe someone out there would actually name a city fucking _Chantilly_.”

“Nope. I’m being dead serious. Chantilly’s a real place one hundo. The city name’s actually short for Chantillman. You could Gloogle it up, but you’d just see that I’m right. I’m always fuckin’ right. Tillman wins, babey.”

God, this guy was infuriating. Every time he opened his mouth, it felt like a cheese grater was scraping at the insides of Declan’s brain. Declan wanted nothing more than for Tillman to shut up and leave him alone, but he had to admit, the guy was also kind of funny. And honestly? Declan couldn’t remember the last time someone had a conversation with him that didn’t start with an offhand comment about his terrible batting skills. So, he decided to play along.

“Right,” Declan said, dragging out his words to make him sound as skeptical as possible. “And your parents just happened to name you after the place you were born?”

“Of course they did. What, you’re telling me that you’re full name isn’t Chicagodeclan?”

“No.”

“Ah well, RIV to you but I’m fucking different I guess.”

The conversation continued in a similar manner to that for several more hours, jumping from trivial one topic to the next without any real point or reason. Tillman was still annoying as all-get-out, but his presence it was starting to grow on him. The more Declan talked with him, the more things he started to notice about Tillman: the way he sharply enunciated one sentence but slurred together the next, they way he kept tucking loose strands of hair behind his ears, the way his eyes both seemed to reflect the glow of the setting sun but also emit a certain light of their own. As darkness fell upon the park, Tillman stood up and said something about getting more booze. He left without a goodbye and didn’t come back for the rest of the party, but Declan didn’t really mind.

***

Back to the present. Declan checked the clock on his phone. 4:38 AM. He’d been up for over an hour. Given that they had practice all day tomorrow, Declan knew he probably should go to sleep soon, but in that moment, all he wanted to do was lie awake and savor the feeling. Before he officially called it a night, Declan decided to write one more message to Tillman. He knew he was probably asleep and probably wouldn’t respond until the next morning at least, but the feeling of getting the text out there was closure enough. Declan knew that his satisfaction wouldn’t last long, but right now he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in nearly a year, life _finally_ felt normal again. As he pressed the send button, Declan shut down his phone and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t even see the reply that came immediately after.

**> direct message with _gayman shittyson_ <**

**4:42 AM- 100decs:** welcome back to the land of the living you loser  
 **4:42 AM- 100decs:** i thought you’d never come back lmao  
 **4:43 AM- tillmanwins:** wait   
**4:43 AM- tillmanwins:** who are you again?

**Author's Note:**

> congrats!! you made it to the end! thanks for sticking around  
> there's def gonna be more of this. in the meantime, hmu on twitter @itsboattime !


End file.
